Immortal and Immoral
by Adali
Summary: The thing about immortality is there's really no point in living. Voldemort doesn't quite seem to understand that, and neither do the newest members to Hogwarts.They'll have to learn it, or they could kill off the entire wizarding world. Abandoned.
1. Arrival

_Author's Note: I've tried to keep the chapters short, so most are between one and two thousand words long. Some a bit shorter, some a bit longer. Artemis, Ares, Apollo, Ray, Velma, and Vera are all original characters and belong to me. The others you recognise belong to JK Rowling (there'll be lots of them in later chapters, so I won't list them all). There is a loose base on Rowling's 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' (Published for charity at some point), 'Dungeons and Dragons' (Wizards of the Coast, I think. No direct references, but some ideas have grown from a vague recollection of one of the books, so I thought it best to reference), and of course Tolkein, from whom so many of us draw our ideas._   
_If any of you care to look (which I somehow doubt), you'll find tons of symbolism and 'deep spiritual meaning' (as my English class has dubbed it), particularily in Artemis, Ares, and Apollo. Those who can't see it or don't want to, please just enjoy it as a story: that's what I wrote it to be. If any of you have insights into this symbolism (or any comments, which I love to get), please let me know. I'd like to see if I'm getting it across right, for future writings._   
_Above all, please enjoy!_   


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The air was thinner, here above the clouds, but he had no trouble breathing. Air, almost completely unnecessary for life but so sweet and clean that he could not think to be without it, filled his lungs. It also shoved his metallic gold hair away from his face, although he knew from experience it would fall back perfectly as soon as he landed. It was a small magic, like all the others he did. Useful, as most of them were, unless he wanted something big done. Elf magic, though powerful, only did small, mundane things like make clothes or fix hair, cook good food or clean up a mess. Perhaps the biggest it could do was heal, but then it only speeded the natural healing rather than supplementing it.   
He'd always thought he'd rather have magic like his sister's. It made her a freak, more than they both already were, but it seemed better than his. Something had melded the delicate elf magic from their father's side with the coarse human magic from their mother's, making her not only incredibly powerful but also able to do the bigger, fancier and more noticeable magic's of the humans. Akin to the humans', anyway. It was really very different. Her hair would be far from perfect when they landed, but he would have traded his immaculate hair and clothes for her raw power.   
He could hear her high, happy laughter faintly as the breeze snatched it away. She was only a few hours younger than he, but she always seemed much younger, less mature. The metallic silver hair that reached her thin waist spread out behind her, darkly shadowed by her heel length black cape that fluttered in the wind. He stole a glance at her, and saw her face upturned towards the sun, brilliant violet eyes closed, a look of pure delight on her face. She really loved flying. For him it was a way to get around, a way to play a game he liked, but riding the soaring black dragon as she did now was a passion for Artemis, a thing that gave her life and energy.   
His own mount, a tawny griffon, shifted slightly as if sensing his inattention. The dragon would carry his sister as if she were the most precious thing in the world no matter what. His griffon was not nearly so forgiving. He patted its great neck and stayed looking strait ahead for a time before allowing his attention to wander again.   
Glancing back, he could see the third member of their odd little party. The other boy was another half-elf, although not related to them. With him they were a complete set, displaying all the major physical attributes possible in High Elves. His hair was black beyond imagining, and made his typically pale elvin skin seem even lighter and his crystal-grey eyes seem even more remote. His colouring was blessedly rare.   
It was very easy to tell elves apart, even if it shouldn't have been. There were only three possible hair or eye colours, and those didn't vary much in shade or texture. The same was true of eyes, and one combination of the two was not only rare, but most who had it were killed before their second birthday. All elves were built similarly, too, with narrow faces and frames and long, elegant bone structures.   
While all three of them were outwardly indistinguishable from pure-blooded elves, their minds were very different. Pure blooded High Elves were stupid. Most half-elves were pretty stupid too. For a race that averages life spans of about eight hundred years, it was amazing just how stupid they all were. Artemis, who was easily the most opinionated and cynical of the three, has once said elves were probably stupid because anyone more intelligent would go insane after ten years of the mindless tedium that passed for elvish life. As they'd only lived among the elves for maybe four years, and that broken up, he wasn't sure how accurate her assessment was. Personally, he found he could learn to enjoy the comfort and relaxation within a few months. Artemis said his intelligence must be close to that of a pure-blood.   
The griffon gave a hitch, bringing him back to the present. The heavy sweeps of the griffons wings made for difficult and uncomfortable riding, so it was much nicer if his mind was elsewhere. Except that the griffon didn't like that. Ares didn't seem to fare much better, his thestral's wings being of much the same design as the griffon's. On the other hand, the jet-black winged-horse always did exactly what its black-haired rider wanted, although it would happily kill anyone else. Ares wasn't tolerated out of love or devotion, it had always seemed, but obeyed as one evil being bows to a more powerful one. It wasn't an encouraging thought.   
Artemis definitely had the easiest time. She knelt astride the dragon's ridged back, in a little dip that seemed made to be a saddle for her, just ahead of where the dragon's wings joined its body. The slow, steady sweeps of those great wings made for a much smoother one, and a much faster one. So as not to get too far ahead, the pair performed graceful turns and loops, something both of them seemed to enjoy. The dragon was an albatross to the sparrows that were the boys' mounts, and flew with a pride that reflected its ingrained knowledge of that. If his own griffon had been a fussy courtier, then the thestral would be a villainous nobleman, and the dragon a great king.   
It was with a kingly flourish which mocked his analogy that the dragon twirled its winds so that the wind cracked and it seemed to jump upwards before beginning to spiral downwards. The griffon and the thestral followed with far less grace than their leader.   
As soon as they broke the cloud he could see this destination. an enormous castle with a lake, surrounded by mountains and forests. From the corner of his eye he could see a village, but his main attention was on the dozens of upturned faces he could just discern that waited at the edge of the lake.   
In a flutter of wings the three great animals landed. Amid swishing tails and fanning feathers their riders dismounted and made their way to the little group that obviously led the teeming mass, most of whom were looking with awe or fear at the beasts.   
"Sorry we're late, sir," Artemis said to an old man with a long white beard. His heavy purple robes were deeply embroidered, and his small half-moon spectacles glittered in the sunlight. The twins knew this man, or had long ago. He seemed different now, or it may have been the boy's own perceptions that had changed.   
The boy had hoped for a better entry remark. An apology just didn't seem to fit after their grand entrance. They should have come earlier, with the others, by portkey, but that made Artemis and Ares sick. He didn't get sick, another small magic. It was done now, though.   
"That's alright," the old man said kindly. "Lady Vera was kind enough to send warning about you three." His eyes twinkled merrily.   
"It wasn't needed," hissed a voice. A figure slid through the crowd to join their group. Under the black cloak was a boy the same age as Ares, about a year older than the twins, although he was a boy only in the loosest sense of the word. Ray Blood had been created by an evil wizard, one of the boy's relatives, actually, many years ago, and was equal parts dementor, vampire, and boggart. He could have passed for human, though, if he could have gotten over his morbid sense of humour and his aversion to light. As things were, most humans - most anyone, actually - just thought of him as a freak, even without knowing exactly what he was. "Velma has been telling them all about you."   
"Very little of it good," the golden boy guessed, at the same time his sister exclaimed,"Not everything!?"   
"None of it good,"came the hissed reply, "but not everything. She doesn't know everything." Neither did Ray, or just about anyone. Ares knew everything, just as the twins knew everything about him. Well, the boy knew everything. There were one or two details that Artemis didn't know.   
"Of course," he sighed.   
"She did seem to think it would be better if the three of you didn't come," the old man agreed. "Perhaps you should introduce yourself to the rest of the teachers. Just a formality, you understand." He indicated the assembled adults behind him.   
"I'm Apollo Riddle, " the golden-haired elf said. He thought he saw eyes widen at his name, but composed his face to polite blankness. "And this is my sister Artemis." Their names were actually much longer and more complicated, various forms being used according to who they spoke to or were addressed by, and the situation. With humans, though, it was better to keeps things simple, so they used the last name of their closest living kin, and the first names they had fashioned themselves.   
"Ares Shadowfield," Ares supplied. He too had chosen a name for himself, although he used part of his elvin name for a surname. He'd wanted to be called Hades, as that fit their theme of ancient human gods, but Artemis had said not to. People looked at you funny when you said your name was Hell. Besides, he'd already named his thestral that.   
"It's a pleasure to meet all of you," the old man said gravely. No mention that he'd already met the twins, for although it had been long ago Apollo had no doubt he remembered them. "Won't you please come inside for the feast?" 


	2. Ares: Testing

It wasn't quite that quick. They went first to an empty classroom in the dizzying maze of the castle. He walked beside Artemis, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Apollo walked a little ahead, and was talking to him, but he wasn't quite sure what was being said. Instead, he watches the corridors pass, with their moving suits of armour and talking portraits. Wizards were so tacky. These things had gone out of style at least four hundred years before. Not that he remembered a time when they'd been in style. He was only nineteen, after all. But honestly! They probably hadn't renovated in a at least that long. It smelled that way, and you could always tell by the smell. The latest style, which he knew Beauxbatons was following and Durmstrang was adapting, was to furnish in the style of Wildmoor, his own school. That meant the place would seem to be made purely of forests and lakes, with branches forming everything from roofs to doors. Wildmoor had a castle too, but the inside was done in sections by different teachers to suit their tastes. As a result, most reflected nature, although there was one hallway made exclusively of gold, silver, and precious stones and another made of bones. But no where was there anything like this.   
"You aren't listening to me, are you?" Apollo demanded, turning suddenly. Ares blinked. Apollo must have taken that for an answer, because he responded with an irate 'whatever'.   
They reached their destination, a classroom just as Ares could have imagined it from the rest of the school he'd seen.   
"Who'd like to go first?" the hard-faced woman asked. She might have been in charge, but she deferred to the old man that had been introduced as the headmaster. Ares couldn't remember the name that had been given. Velma, of course, stepped forward. He suspected she liked to make a spectacle of herself so she could get half the attention Artemis got by being beautiful. On one hand, he loved Artemis, so his opinion of her beauty and character didn't totally count. On the other hand, he'd seen other boys looking at her, and even if he didn't like it, he could understand why they found her so riveting. Velma hoped to compete with her, although he couldn't understand why.   
"Full name, please," the hard-faced woman said. "And..." she looked at the headmaster for confirmation, "species."   
"Velma Fair of Greenglen, fairy," the short, chubby girl answered without hesitation. Ares could understand the teachers' sceptical looks. Velma didn't look like a fairy. She was much too tall - nearly five feet - and didn't have wings. She's had a bottle of skel-grow dropped on her when she was younger, which explained her size. How she lost her wings, he didn't know and had never bothered to ask.   
The girl's name was noted on a roll of parchment. "Transfigure this badger, please." Velma waived the wand she'd picked up when the Wildmoor teachers had taken them all to Diagon Alley. They'd all received wands even if, like Artemis and Ares himself, they didn't need them. They had also picked up textbooks and robes for Hogwarts, just as if they were regular students.   
The badger became a large grey pillow. So it went; potions, charms, history, and general knowledge were all thoroughly tested before the teachers were satisfied. But it wasn't over yet.   
"Thor Torins, giant," was next, and tested as thoroughly as Velma had been. Thor was a small giant, and very touchy about his height. He probably wasn't even taller than a half-blood giant, which shamed him deeply. Raymond Blood followed, then Trixel Cray, a poltergeist girl stripped of most her powers in an accident. Most Wildmoor students were the results of accidents or strange breeding, or pure-blooded something's that were just misfits. He himself followed. At first he didn't want to give his full name, but a look from Apollo insisted. Artemis would have taken his side, he was sure, but she had fallen asleep, her head on her folded arms, hair spread over the desk she sat in.   
"My name is Dulais Inferno, clan Shadowfield, hold Darkfire. I prefer Ares, however," he said clearly, his head high. He refused to look directly at anyone. "I am a half-elven, half-human," here he hesitated, but made himself say it, "Drow." There, he'd said it. And only the old man, the headmaster, looked to have even the slightest idea what it meant, and even he didn't really seem to know. But then, even his own schoolmates seemed mystified. Except Apollo. Artemis would understand the significance, but she was asleep.   
Apollo took his turn, waving his wand with the sort of grace he always had. His spells worked better than Ares' had, and he knew more, even if Ares had more raw power. Apollo had always been an overachiever.   
Finally, it was Artemis' turn. She woke up, but not until Apollo, with yet another graceful wave of his wand, poured a magical cascade of water over her. She bolted upright with a shriek, almost falling out of the desk as she did so. Her hair had lost its colour when the water hit it, and now whipped about it wet tendrils. Ares felt a surge somewhere in his blood that told him Artemis was doing magic. A human wouldn't feel it, and he wasn't sure an elf would either. He could, and he knew Apollo could, if less strongly, and Artemis would feel it if he did magic. Apollo didn't seem to give off that sort of thing, but he wasn't nearly as powerful. It was an indescribable sensation, one he might have imagined he'd had.   
It had obviously been real, though, because Apollo was now stuck to the ceiling. He looked like he'd lay down spread-eagled on the ground and suddenly realized it wasn't the floor as he'd thought but the ceiling.   
Having done this, most people would have dried themselves off. Artemis couldn't do something that small without a lot of effort; it was too close to elf magic, or even wizard. So, as always, she had contented herself with getting extreme revenge on her brother. It had happened before, and would again. Artemis would let her brother go when she calmed down. Ares doubted it would take more than a day this time. Not like the time Apollo had snitched her out for stealing pastries from the Wildmoor kitchens. Apollo had been stuck as a rat for a full week, and had kept the tail for another after that.   
Everyone stumbled back as a hot wind gusted out of nowhere and swirled into a tornado around Artemis. Even as he shielded his face against the wind, he could hear her cloak snapping. Seconds later it died down, leaving the silver-haired beauty dry, if a bit windblown. Her black dragon-hide flight suit looked no worse for wear. She'd made it with his help, as well as her brother's, and all three of them had several. All were made from the skin of one giant dragon who had been killed in a territory fight. Warm or cool no matter what, protective against anything and incredibly light, they were the perfect suits.   
"I rather think you won't be needing what we can teach you," the headmaster said when the wind died down.   
"Potions, sir, and herbology. I don't know those. And history, I suppose, although it seemed a very boring subject," Artemis said humbly, looking in the opposite direction from where her brother was stuck.   
"Perhaps she could teach, sir," Ray spoke up. He didn't speak loudly, but his voice carried well. "The responsibility would be good for her." Ray was the only friend the three elves had besides each other, else he's have been stuck to the roof or worse for such a comment. Artemis was far more tolerant of Ray and Ares himself than of anyone else, especially her twin.   
"What would you suggest?" the headmaster asked. He was remarkably calm, all things considered.   
"Professor, you can't be serious..." the hard-faced woman broke in in alarm.   
"But I am, Minerva," the old man said. "Master Blood?"   
"Magical creatures, sir, or maybe something about practical magic."   
"Practical magic?"   
"Demons and curses, large workings, spell invention and theory, and so on, sir."   
"You must use those often, if you consider them practical."   
"Life is interesting, sir," came the hissed reply.   
"Indeed. Very well, she may assist Professor Weasley with Care of Magical Creatures, and I believe we can offer an optional course to our more advanced students. You will still be taking courses, you understand," the headmaster said to Artemis.   
"Thank you sir," the girl replied.   
"Name?" the hard-faced woman asked a bit breathlessly. She, like so many adults, doubtless had issues with change. That was her problem.   
"Ceindeg Silverlake, clan Goldshore of holt Goldenwood. I go by Artemis Riddle."   
"Riddle?" the hard-faced woman asked. "As it sounds?"   
"You have a problem with that?"   
"No." But the woman looked faint. She wrote anyway. The old man's eyes glinted a little, but it could have been interest or thoughtfulness.   
Ares didn't really care about Artemis' human name. Wizards sometimes frowned at it, but they were of an inferior race anyway. Elves were superior, if stupid. Half-elves were by far the greatest race, and Artemis and Apollo, by heritage alone, were the greatest of all. It was in their names. Galwys and Ceindeg, Gold- and Silverlake. Their first names meant little, but that they had the same meaning indicated twins. Gold and silver, though, meant first and second child of the first clan of the first holt. The Goldenwood holt was the most populous, the diplomatic and spiritual centre of the High-elven community. The two of them were the closest the elven community had to royalty, and were accorded great respect. Well, they were whenever Apollo could drag his little sister back to the great golden woods of the holt for another period of mind-numbing boredom, as she put it. And, though they didn't often people and only acknowledged it even slightly in their human names, they came from a great line of wizards on their mother's side.   
He, on the other hand, was a dangerous son of a dangerous line. His name spoke as loudly as theirs, but where theirs was honour and greatness, his was blood, fire, and darkness. He was Drow, from a family that had produced more Drow than any other. His holt, too, had a dark past, for it was from there that the Drow had been unleashed. Darkness, fire, and shame. He'd be dead at least seventeen years had his human mother, street wench from the dregs of wizard society, not fled the holt when she learned the fate that awaited her small son. Death, or fire and darkness. Death. She died saving him. She needn't have bothered. He was Drow. 


	3. Artemis: Sorting

Artemis stood in the little room surrounded by the much smaller first-years. They was waiting to be Sorted. Next door she could hear the noise several hundred people couldn't help but make. The first-years knew it, and glanced at each other worriedly, looking for a kindly face to reassure them. They found Velma, but she could only reassure so many. The rest of the Wildmoor students might as well have been cut from stone for all their expression. Except Apollo, still stuck to the roof, who's face was resigned.   
She glanced worriedly at Ares. Looking at her, one might have thought she was simply looking at anything and everything, so flawless was her serenity. It was the one thing she had learned from the elves, and was useful in settling disputes and calming people down. Or it had better uses, like getting out of trouble or pretending she was listening to her teachers. Ares' face was equally empty, although his might have been chiselled from cold rock. It was a particular look for him, one she knew well, and hated. It was that look that said he was thinking about the Drow. That would never do. He may be a Drow, but he wasn't allowed to be Drow. Did that make sense? It didn't matter. She slid over to him.   
"Stop it," she whispered, although it came out more a hiss like Ray's. He looked at her. First-years looked at both of them guardedly. His crystal eyes couldn't help but look unfocused, but she knew his stare could have bored holes through her. "I said, stop it."   
"Stop what?"He tried to sound nonchalant, innocent. She knew him too well.   
"You know what I mean."   
He did know, and for a second he looked a bit lost, but covered it quickly. "I can't help what I am." Level, calm, like they were discussing something of no interest to him. But it wasn't nothing, and soon, it would be much, much more than nothing.   
Her heart went out to him. To be Drow was to be cursed. Half-elves who were Drow were unheard of, but that was what he was. But half- or pure-blood, he was Drow. How much elf blood he had would make no difference to the elves. They might be stupid, but they did know he was Drow. And Drow had to be killed as a mercy to themselves and those around them.   
She hugged him, feeling very self-conscious. It felt like the eyes of every eleven year old in the room was on them. She really wanted to put her head on his shoulder and cry as she had so many times before. It was hard being rejects from their own race, growing up in a sort of isolation that could never be explained or dispelled. It would be even harder for him. He was Drow. Right now she wanted to cry, for herself being back among humans and for remembering the last times she had been, for Ares being Drow, and even Apollo, stuck to the ceiling though he was, for culling so many of his own emotions so they could survive. But now wasn't the time. She was here for a reason, and people were watching. She had to be strong.   
Much as she whished she didn't have to, she stepped away from Ares. People were watching her; she could tell. They always did. They watched her and Apollo, slim and incredibly good looking as they were, but with odd pointed ear and strangely coloured eyes. Ares too, for even though he was only moderately good-looking by elven standards, he was incredibly handsome in a villainous sort of way to humans. As long as Apollo wasn't around, that was. Then he just sort of faded.   
"Artemis?" he older brother's voice came from overhead. She looked up into her twin's perfect cerulean eyes. Ares moved away to a corner and crouched next to the huddled shape that was Ray. "Would you let me down please?"   
"You dumped water on me."   
"I'm sorry." She doubted it. Then again, she'd dragged him across the ceiling all the way from the classroom and she hadn't been exactly careful about it. Elves' bones being very similar to dragon or bird ones, she was surprised he hadn't had anything broken. The flight suit would have helped some, but it wouldn't have stopped a broken arm if he hit a pillar. Still, he'd only been up there an hour. "Please." Blue eyes met violet again, and held. Finally, Artemis relented. Apollo floated slowly down to land on his feet. "Thank-you." Artemis turned away, shocked at her display of sympathy, as Velma bustled through the crowd to heal Apollo. Ares didn't seem to be in the mood to fix him up, and Artemis couldn't, not unless he at least had a couple of broken bones. But it was funny how it was always Velma who came to his rescue.   
Presently, the hard-faced teacher appeared. Artemis remembered her from when she'd been younger. She remembered the headmaster too, who she saw as she followed the others onto a dais at one end of the Great Hall. Rows of candles at illuminated rows of tables, at which sat rows of students, and among those students... no, it couldn't be. He was dead. and it wasn't as if he could have just not died; he'd been older when he'd popped off. His mid-twenties, she was pretty sure. This boy was in his late teens. And he'd died when she was just a cub. Unless... yes, the years were right. Suddenly she knew which House she had to be in. She was here for a reason, and it would be much easier accomplished in that House.   
A touch to Apollo's hand got his attention, although he didn't turn around. She could almost feel his focus shift to her. In the whispery language of the elves she told him what she was going to do. Would he help? Would he come with her? She needed him, if they were to do what they'd come for. Yes, he'd help, but she'd have to do it for him.   
"Riddle, Apollo," McGonagoll called. Apollo put on the Sorting Hat. It started to open the tear that served it as a mouth, then Artemis' magic struck it. It quivered slightly on her brother's head as the powerful conduit opened. She could have done it an easier way, because linking to its magical epicentre wasn't easy and she knew only vaguely how to do it, but she didn't want to ruin it, only control it temporarily. The Hat resisted her. Not only was it magically powerful, if in a benign way, but it was almost sentient. It might actually be. Fortunate that she'd done it this way, else she'd have destroyed it for sure. The Hat did as she told it. Apollo took it off and joined the cheering house, much to the displeasure of the other houses.   
"Riddle, Artemis," came McGonagoll's call. Now, Artemis thought to the Hat as she put it on, you know what to do.   
Must I? asked the Hat. You don't belong there. You belong in...   
I belong there. Ancestry means nothing.   
But the Hat was being obstinate. No, no. This has nothing to do with that, although it just makes it an even better choice. He could have gone either way. You, on the other hand, would do much better in...   
Do it!   
"Gryffindor!" yelled the Hat. 


	4. Ares: Feast

Ares knew where he'd go even before he put the Hat on. He'd read Hogwarts: A History over the past few days, as much as he could. He knew where he belonged. He was Drow. The Hat would know it, feel it, and place him accordingly. The Hat could not be influenced.   
Except that, apparently, it could. He'd felt the magical surges as each of the twins wore the Hat. Strong ones, which always meant Artemis. No other creature he'd ever met could make those. He wondered if anyone else had heard the strain in the Hat's call. Artemis should have been with him, Apollo too. Instead, she'd forced the Hat, and now they both sat at the Gryffindor table. He saw Artemis' apologetic face as he crossed to the cheering table to join Ray. He wanted to reassure her that she'd done the right thing, the necessary thing. He couldn't, though, because somehow he wasn't sure it was right or necessary.   
The headmaster stood. "My apologies for keeping you from your supper," he said, "but the teachers and I thought it best to explain the older students who have just joined you. We are very pleased to be hosting seven students from Wildmoor College. Please make them feel welcome.   
"While I'm greeting newcomers - I'm sorry, I won't take long," he added, seeing anguished faces amongst the crowd, "I'd like to take the opportunity to introduce Professor Weasley, who has taken the post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher and Professor Kramer, who will be teacher Defence Against the Dark Arts. Also, Mademoiselle Delacour, whom some of you may remember, will be starting a French program." There were some cheers, more for Professor Weasley than for Kramer because he seemed nicer. When Weasley stood and waved, Ares could see he was a stocky man about twenty-five, with bright read hair and tons of freckles. A burn he could see clearly even this far away decorated the man's forearm. The other teacher, Kramer, was a heavy-set older woman with a sour face.   
Delacour stood and waved, to great cheers from the male population. Veela, he decided, or at least partly. The woman, no more than twenty-two or so, looked like a pale copy of the younger Artemis, so unless she were an elf – she wasn't, her ears were rounded – she'd have to be.   
There was a fourth new teacher, of course, but the headmaster had doubtless thought it best not to call even more attention to Artemis. Considering how many of the students - both boys and girls, although it was mostly stunned-looking older boys, he was probably right. These would have sore necks tomorrow, from trying to surreptitiously watch both Artemis and Delacour.   
"Let the feast begin." The headmaster clapped his hands ans the golden plates filled with food. Ares dug in with a will. Four hours of flying were enjoyable, but you were often sore, tired, and hungry afterwards. If the food wasn't up to the standards of Wildmoor's increadible kitchens, it wouldn't have been noticable from the way he ate.   
Halfway through a pile of roast chicken, baked potatoes, and roast beef silver letters appeared infront of him as if drawn on the air by an invisible hand. Eat your broccoli.It's good for you. Artemis hated to eat vegetables, and would fight Matron everytime the elderly woman told her to eat them, but she always made sure he got enough. Oh, potatoes and corn were fine, peas and carrots too, and she'd eat cauliflower if it had aa thick cheese sauce, but asparagus, broccoli, and brussel sprouts in particular were out of the question. The letters twisted themselves into another message. Ray too. Talk later? Ray saw the message and glared across the hall at Artemis. He stubbornly maintained that he was allergic to any food that was green, and had since he was seven, but as yet he'd shown no ill effects from eating them.   
Ares concentrated. This sort of air writing was fairly easy for Artemis, but he needed to really think about it. Apollo couldn't do it at all. On the other side of the room, small, fiery red letters appeared infront of Artemis. Because of the distance and people between them, he couldn't see the writing, but Artemis could easily read his message. Not tonight. Tomorrow. Find place. He assumed she'd seen it, so let the spell go. Releasing the difficult spell was like letting his breath go after holding it. He felt what seemed a great weight lift off him, partly because the spell was done and partly because he'd get to see Artemis for sure tomorrow. 


	5. Artemis: First Days

_Author's Note: All these chapters are rated PG13 for frequent use of words like 'idiot' (if this is too high a rating, I'm sorry, but sometimes people take offence at the smallest thing). I should note that Artemis' room is based loosely on Lothlorien from the Lord of the Rings._   
_I should also like to note, just for reference although I'll write more about it in future chapters, that Draco has decided his feud with Harry was childish, and discontinued it in their sixth year by totally ignoring him. On the other hand, he still actively persues his dislike of Ron, although it is now for more personal reasons (he hates Ron and can't be bothered with reasons) than that Ron's a poor piece of wizard trash. He has also broken with Crabbe and Goyle, having gotten sick of their stupidity (after much too long, in my opinion), and generally avoids the rest of the Slytherins, finding them to be petty and coarse._   


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Red. So much red. And gold. The gold definitly made it tacky. Why must everything be red and gold? She like silvery-blue much better. That was how her room at Wildmoor was decorated, all crystal and silver with filmy hangings of grey or ice-blue. This room, where she would sleep, was all gold, red, and mahogany. Her bed had, for the last six years, belonged to the girl who was now Head Girl. The Head Boy and Girl got their own rooms, a luxury Artemis feverently wished for. Instead, she was stuck with four seventeen year old girls who exemplified every form of stupidity, from 'air-head' to 'ditz'.   
This would all have to change. Killing her roomates would be easy enough, but bodies meant questions, and she'd found you could never get the smell of death out of a place. It wasn't even a smell really, more of a feeling, but it made for uncomfortable living quarters all the same. The best place to kill people was outside, where the breeze would take the stench away. Disposal – murder was such an ugly word – was out of the question, so she'd have to improvise.   
That her bed was at the far end of the dormitory would make it that much easier. Ignoring the chatter of the other girls, she set to work. As she did, she was dimly aware of total silence falling behind her. Conjuring was easy engouh, but she'd never done walls before. Rather than risk structurally damaging the castle, she conjured a wall tthat cut her bed off from the rest of the room, but which ended a few inches short of the ceiling. That would help with air circulation too. Sealing the wall to the floor was easy, and now nothing short of powerful magic or an earthquake would rip it up. It wouldn't do to have her thick stone wall fall on her. She added a door, a beautiful one made of mahogany on this side and birch on the inside, rounded at the top. Someone obviously liked this colour scheme, so she wouldn't ruin it for them. Now to redecorate the inside.   
The main door banged open. She whirled, ready to destroy the new arrival. "What the hell are you doing?" Apollo demanded. No need for magic, then. Apollo could be annoying, but he wasn't dangerous – to her, at least. She relaxed, if only a little. He stood in the doorway, outlined by the light from the stairs. Despite his obvious anger, his face couldn't achieve any more emotion than a stern look. Not that he wasn't trying. If there was one thing he really tried to do, it was to control people, himself most importantly. But elven face muscles just weren't designed to show emotion.   
The other girls in the room giggled nervously or sighed, or did something inbetween. Apollo generally had that effect on girls. That didn't make them any less of idiots. "You're supposed to sleep here, not redecorate," he said as sternly as he could manage. If elven faces weren't meant for emotion, there voices weren't designed for infliction.   
She returned his glare – which it was, and if it wasn't much by human standards, it was scorching by elven – with one of her own, although hers had something like bland humor in it. She'd always managed to be more expressive than he. "I don't like red and gold, and I hate mahogany."   
"Then you should have at least warned people," he admonished. "there are teachers in the common room having coniptions. They think there's a war or at least a battle going on up here." She shrugged a bit uncomfortably, not quite meeting his eyes. He always made her feel young and stupid. His gaze softened, and he went so far as to smile, if wanly. She heard a collective sigh from the penut gallery. "I know you miss home," he said gently. Five weeks away from Wildmoor had seemed like an eternity. They hadn't even been here a day, but an hour in hell can seem an eternity, and she'd already spent five weeks there. "Just… try to fit in, alright?" he said in the elven tounge. No need for the penut gallery to hear. She nodded. "I'll see you later." He left.   
"Your brother is so hot," one of the girls gushed. Or maybe she squealed a little. Artemis wasn't too well versed on such things. Artemis didn't know her name, either. She didn't know any of the girls'. She wondered if she really wanted to."Does he have a girlfriend," another asked.   
"Like he tells me." She suspected he and Candy were off again. Sometimes she wondered if they even knew, and then decided she didn't care. If these girls were interested in Apollo, the could go bother him. Rather than continue this conversation, which was similar to dozens she'd had before and none of which she'd liked, she retreated to her room. By the time she went to sleep, the whole room was done as her old one had been, with the conopied bed made of silver birches who's branched laced elegantly at the top and hung with gauzy blue-grey curtains that drifted mistily. The carpet was obscured by a thin, unidentifiable silvery fog. She'd even altered the light to be sort of etheral. Feeling much more at home, she fell asleep, neither knowing nor caring that she'd set off magical alarms all over the country.   
Breakfast was the same sort of solid food that had been at the feast the night before. It wasn't that she was worried about the fat it must contain, as Delacour obviously did. Elves couldn't get fat – although saturated fats could make them violently sick – but it felt like rocks in her stomach. For the most part she ignored what she was eating as she did her peers, instead scrutinizing her schedule with faked interest. There was one group, however, that ignored her pointed disintrest and watched her far more than anyone else did. There was a suspision about them, a watchfulness. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.   
"What do you want?" she demanded, slapping her timetable onto the table with a force that surprised even her, making many of the dishes rattle. They seemed to hesitate.   
"Your name's Riddle, isn't it?" one of the girls asked finally. She, like one of the boys, had bright red hair and freckles, although they looked much better on her than on him.   
She could have answered flippantly, but as she looked from one set face to another, Artemis decided that maybe this wasn't the best time for that. "It is," she said slowly, "although not by birth."   
"Then why use it?" one of the boys broke in. "Don't you know what it means?" He seemed unusually young for seventeen, although it could have been his glasses and untidy black hair that did it, or quite possibly fear.   
"Yes, Harry, I know what it mean." The effect of her statement was electrifying. Eyes widened and hands reached for wands. "And if I could, I'd change it, but some things are not for us to decide."   
"Do you know what he did?" demanded the red-haired boy in a strained voice. He, like many celts, seemed to have troulbes with his temper. It would cause him problems, she was sure. Seeing his face, and those of his friends, she decided this definitley wasn't the best way to meet people.   
"I do. Perhaps someday you will too. Until then," she said, trying to finish the unpleasant conversation, "it should be engouh that Dumbledore trusts me." She grabbed jer timetable and abandoned her half-eaten breakfast. Once she was out of the Great Hall she broke into a run, streaming past everyone and everything until she was completely lost. Then she sank to the floor and cried. It was stupid to cry, pointless, but she couldn't help it. The didn't know, didn't understand; no one did. She wiped her eyes on the wide sleeve of her school robe and stared at the crystal tears. She shouldn't be able to cry. Elves couldn't, not really. They just looked horribly sad, and their eyes sort of filled. Apollo was the same way and Ares – she wasn't sure. She'd never seen him cry, or even come close.   
"I was wondering when you were going to stop," a familiar voice said. But when she looked up to try and find the source, the boy she saw was unknown to her. He wore the same black robes as everyone else, although his has obviously been proffessionally tailored just for him. His tie was green and grey – silk, unless she missed her guess – and he wore a well polished silver badge that read 'Head Boy', pinned just so.   
Artemis remembered another boy, so like this one. It was his voice she had thought she heard. The other boy had worn the same tie and badge, although his robes had been plainer, and his tie some cheaper fabric. The other boy had had black hair and deep, dark blue eyes, where this one's hair was so blond as to be almost colourless and his eyes were steel grey.   
"What're you doing here?" she demanded.   
"I might ask the same." His expression was unreadable. "Most people don't come up here during the day."   
"Where am I, anyway?" she asked. Damn, she hated being ignorant.   
"On top of the north tower." That was odd. She was sure she hadn't taken more than a few stairs. But that did seem to be where she was. Her back was against some sort of stone ledge, the same one that the boy lounged against a few yards away. Behind him all she could see was sky.   
"I'm sorry," she said. She hadn't meant to be aroung anyone when she broke down. He waved a hand dismissivley, almost like he understood, although she doubted he did. So he could pretend he knew things in order to manipulate people. Interesting; the other boy had been able to do that too, and had done so often.   
"Draco Malfoy," he introduced himslef. A small smile, like he was laughing inwardly at some private joke, played about his lips.   
"Artemis Riddle." She knew a Malfoy, and she didn't like him. Even the many years since their only meeting hadn't dimmed her distaste. At the same time, she'd been assured he was an idiot, if a useful one. She had agreed with the first part. From him, she had heard of this boy, although he'd only been a baby then.   
"So I've heard," he agreed. Then he suggested, "maybe you should be getting ready for your next class."   
"Right," she said slowly. It took a moment to smooth the schedule which she still held crumpeled in her hand.   
"Potions with Proffesor Snape," she read. Another name she recognised. A slight surprise, to be sure, although she vaugely remembered that it shouldn't have been.   
"I have that too," Draco said. "We might as well go together. Unless you can find it on your own?"   
"Funny," she muttered. "I…I need my stuff," she added hesitantly. He looked at her with what seemed forced patience. "Just give me a minute." She pictured what she needed. Two textbooks, parchment, quill, ink, and the little bag where she kept her potions ingredients. She added her notebook of spells and notes from Wildmoor for good measure. It all landed in a pile in front of her. Looking at it, she decided she'd need a bag too. While she'd been able to summon everything else, she didn't have a bag. That wasn't a problem, though, as conjuring one was the work of seconds. As soon as it appeared she glanced up at Draco. Most people showed some kind of emotion when they saw her work magic, but his face was as unreadable – bored, even – as before.   
She loaded her bag quickly and slung it over her shoulder. The door, which she'd assumed would lead to a spiral staircase, actually opened into a bustling corridor. Now that she actually looked, she could see the spell that folded space and carried them between places. Given time to study it, she might be able to duplicate it. She made a mental note to do so, provided she could find her way back here.   
Very few could see magic as she could. It was a rare gift, even among elves. Certainly a useful one. It was hard, not being able to use the same spells as anyone else. Ares could do some of hers, but she had to invent them first. That was dangerous. A new spell, or any spell, gone wrong had disastrous effects. The new ones went wrong far more often. In her eighteen years she'd created quite a few, all of which she carefully noted in her notebook. Most just meant visualizing something or wanting it to happen just so, but many were far more complex, though she used those far less often.   
Draco led her through the crowd, which seemed to part in front of them, and down into the dungeons. "Hold on a second, I need to get my bag." She leaned against the wall while he whispered the password and entered the Slytherin dormitories. He needn't have bothered; she heard him fine anyway. She didn't need a password to get in. If she had to, she could blast her way in, or pull a stunt like she had with the Hat. Still, she made a mental note of the door and its password. You never knew. 


	6. Ares: Classes

_Well, it's been an eternity since I updates this one, so I thought I would, since I had it written anyway. I like this story, just because the twins and Ares are so much fun to write. Well, Ares and Artemis. Apollo's turning into a bit of a prat as the story goes on, but I like pitting him against Artemis. Adds a little color, I guess._   
_Anyway, please read and review._   


* * *

  
"You find her?" Ares asked as soon as Draco entered the common room.   
"Yeah. Where's my bag?" Ares handed it to him.   
"Where is she?"   
"Outside. She was in a bad way when I found her. Fortunately, she didn't realize I arrived after her." 

Relief was Ares' main emotion. When Ray had suddenly said Artemis was running up to the North Tower, and that she was upset, he'd worried. Ray's boggart heritage gave him a sort of ESP, though it was rare he saw more than a moment or two ahead, and most of what he saw was bad. Or he could tell people's worst fears by looking at them. He'd once told Ares' what his was, but Ares had already known. He was Drow. What was there to fear worse than that? 

Ray had said she was upset, and Ares had wanted to go to her. But he couldn't, and neither could Ray. Artemis would never let them see her cry, or even upset. So they'd sent Draco. 

He hadn't wanted to go at first, but there must have been some sort of conscience that finally pushed him to. He'd probably helped Artemis more than either of them could have, much as Ares didn't like it. Artemis didn't want sympathy, and she wanted people to notice her emotions even less. 

They met Artemis in the hall. She greeted them all with a smile, although Ares caught her glancing questioningly at him and Ray. She might suspect, but she'd never know for sure. 

"It's not that bad," she said encouragingly to Ray. They'd convinced him he'd have to show his face no matter how light it was. He wasn't liking it. Looking at him, Ares was reminded that even though Ray had been his best friend since they'd both been seven, he'd rarely seen his friend's face. Ray was as pale and sallow as the last time his face had been visible, but more pinched. He'd been thin even as a boy, but he'd managed to get even thinner, more skeletal. When he opened his mouth you could see his canines, which seemed unusually pointy. Both his eyes and his hair were a non-descript dark brown, although Ares always expected them to be black for some reason. 

Most of the Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh years were already there when they arrived. He noticed Apollo, surrounded by girls from both Houses. Apollo didn't pay a lot of attention to girls, being more interested in his studies, but Ares could tell he was enjoying his popularity. 

They found seats together near the back, behind two boys and a girl. He felt rather than saw Artemis tense. 

"What?" he asked quietly. Silver letters appeared, and told him. So that was Harry Potter. Even secluded at Wildmoor as he had been, Ares had heard of the boy. That he and his friends had been the cause of Artemis' distress did noting to endear the boy to him. He resolved to ask Draco about the group later. 

Professor Snape appeared and called the roll. Ares knew about him only from what the twins had said. He was as Ares had envisioned him. Tall, dour, and mean looking, the teacher had greasy black hair and spoke in a monotone. After an hour of staring blindly at the chalk board, his first class as a wizard was done. Around him, the other students has scribbled furiously. He didn't need to. Artemis had devised a spell that took notes for her, noting anything important or which she didn't know. She'd built him a copy of it last year as a birthday present. So he sat and only half listened as the teacher droned. 

Beside him, he could see Artemis and Ray playing. They played only the simplest games, the ones that you just needed a piece of parchment and a quill for. When Artemis had still been fairly young - only about ten - she'd been badly hurt in a flying accident. To make the weeks spent in the hospital wing more bearable, the teachers had given her a spell attached to a smooth river rock. It made a small area, about a foot square, into a magical chalk board. Brushing it with an index finger made a dull gold mark on whatever surface the stone sat on, and a swipe of the palm erased it. Without looking directly at the space, she and Ray seemed to be playing hangman. Ray had always been bad at that game. He'd got an 'a' in the third space. It was a six letter word. Those two facts, combined with it being Artemis, meant the word was 'dragon'. Ray would figure it out eventually. 

He suspected the teachers at Wildmoor had thought Artemis lost or destroyed the stone long ago. To make sure, knowing her as they did, they'd added a decay spell to the rock, so it would start to wear out after a few weeks. Artemis had started to decipher the spell and found it. Her magic was too different to do anything about it without risking damage to the stone, but she'd come up with a spell he could do. They often worked like that, Artemis designing spells for him to do. It made mayhem at Wildmoor so much easier. 

Keeping one eye on the teacher, he reached across Ray and filled in the letters. Artemis and Ray glared at him. I would have got it, Ray wrote. Artemis wiped it off. Have more patience, she added. she was one to talk. 

The end of class was soon heralded by the ringing of a giant, unseen gong, which had somehow been quieted to an acceptable level without being muffled. Ares grabbed his parchment and the quill which had fallen back onto the desk and stuffed them into his bag. Well, they wouldn't actually be in his bag. The opening for it was just the entrance to another place which wasn't really a place, where he stored his things. Whatever he needed jumped into his hand as soon as he put it through the opening. It was very useful, although he had no idea how it worked. Well, he had some idea, but only the vaguest. The teachers back at Wildmoor had made it for him, as a twelfth birthday present. 

Divination was next on Ares' schedule, but as he followed Ray and Draco up the many flights of stairs from the Potions dungeon to the Divinition tower, he wasn't looking forward to it. Draco had described it as an excellent class for catching up on sleep, if you could learn to ignore the teacher, who was apparently a bit of a psychopath. Draco didn't seem too happy about it either. It was the first year, he explained, thst they were expected to take it with the Gryffindors. It might have been bearable, but neither of the twins would be there. For some reason, Apollo had opted for Muggle Studies instead, and Artemis had decided to try French. That she spoke the language perfectly, due to some odd genetic language of the elves, meant nothing to Artemis. Sometimes he wondered if there was something about her crossbred heritage that had unhinged her. 

When he entered through the trap door, he found that the Divination classroom was - thankfully - like no other. Large, overstuffed armchairs were grouped around little coffee tables. Even though the tower room should have been bright, scarves over the windows, a large fire, and too much incense made for a smoky, dark feel. And it smelled bad. 

"I predict severe allergy and asthma attacks in this room." Ray said as they settled into seats. A few minutes later they were joined, much to their dismay, by Potter and the red-haired kid. They didn't look too happy about it either. 

"I believe you may be right, my dear," breathed a voice from behind one of the armchairs. A funny-looking little witch, dressed in bright gypsy-style clothes and wearing thick glasses that made her eyes look huge, emerged. "Yes, I sense you are a true diviner." 

Draco caught Ares' eye. Two sets of light grey eyes rolled expressively. You didn't need to be a seer to predict the smelly smoke would make someone violently sick. Unbidden, an image of Artemis, who had a strong stomach for movement and carnage but none for bad smells, rose in his mind. In it, she was being horribly sick all over the thick embroidered rug. It didn't make for a pretty image. 

"The fates have informed me that we are to begin scrying, ducklings," the teacher carolled to the class, many of whom looked rapturous but an equal number of whom looked nearly dead. "Please open your books to page 1226."   



	7. Artemis: Care of Magical Creatures

_This chapter has gone through a dozen revisions already. I finally got tired of changing my mind about it, so now it's staying as it is, no matter how much fault I find with it. But I suppose I'm being overly critical again, so ignore my bad vibes and just read the story._   


* * *

Much to Professor - or as she preferred to be called, Mademoiselle - Delacour's dismay, an owl had flown in through the open doorway in the middle of French class. Having a large owl flying around and being extremely disruptive did not inspire confidence during a first day's teaching. In the end it had decided to deliver its missive to Artemis and allow itself to be evicted from the room. 

Professor Charles Weasley, it said in very choppy writing, requested the Professor Artemis Riddle join him for lunch in the Care of Magical Creatures office, during which they would put together some lesson plans for that afternoon. It was very short notice, it understood, but that unfortunately couldn't be helped. 

Artemis had to go because, rather than take double Transfiguration, she had to go teach little kids not to put their hands - or their heads, she supposed, as some were doubtless beyond the point of comprehendible stupidity - in monster's mouths. 

It was with this happy outlook that she let herself into the office. It was only accessible from outside, which meant she'd have to trek quite a ways around the castle to get to it, no matter what the weather. It shouldn't bother her too much, unless it really started to snow: unfortunately for her, elves were cold-blooded. 

Inside it was one room that obviously served as kitchen, living room, and study. Tucked in one corner was a small staircase that presumably led to Professor Weasley's bedroom. The professor himself was busy making tea in the small kitchenette.   
He reminded her immediately of the red-haired boy and girl, except that he was short and stocky, and radiated a pleased good humour. He looked up when she let the door close behind her, and her sharp ears heard his intake of breath. 

"Tea?" he offered, sounding a bit strangled. "The house-elves send over wonderful lunches and juice, but I can't seem to get a decent cup of tea from them." At least he sounded normal now. 

"If you could just get me a cup of hot water? she asked. "I have a special brew of my own."   
"Certainly." With magical aid from his wand the water was soon boiled. She summoned a little grey pouch from her room and added a teaspoon of the silvery powder it contained to the water. She stuffed the pouch in her bag before stirring the drink so the dust dissolved. 

When they sat the simple tin plates filled with food. Unlike the lavish spread in the Great Hall, this was simpler fare. There were two steak sandwiches each, with salads and carrot sticks on the side. During the first few minutes of eating they introduced themselves less formally. 

"I'm a dragon specialist, actually," admitted Charlie. "I don't have a lot to do with other beasts."   
"Wonderful. They're about the only species I've learned about formally. Others I had to learn about by working with them." So it went for a few minutes as they compared their knowledge of various species. 

The third years, which they taught first, would do equine beasts first. Their second class, fifth years, could do Dark creatures. Privately, Artemis considered that area the DADA teacher's job, but as the woman would have nothing to do with the creatures, it was left up to them. 

The students arrived soon after they were finished lunch, clustering outside the five foot stone wall that encircled the Care of Magical Creatures enclosure. They were, to Artemis's extreme displeasure, a mixture of Slytherins and Gryffindors. Of all the Houses, those two seemed to get along the worst. She'd only been here a day – this time – and already she knew that. Mostly she knew it because it made it difficult for her to see Ares and Ray. 

While it was admirable of the administrators to try and put all the groups together for various classes, they really shouldn't have put those two Houses together so often. The rivalry was at least a thousand years old, after all. And yet the two Houses were with each other more than with the other two Houses combined. Stupid, that's what it was. 

Even worse, sometimes the younger students would try to be like the great Harry Potter or the wonderful Draco Malfoy. Which meant they started fights, or so Charlie had told her. In the middle of Charlie's explanation of their curriculum, she spotted two quietly going at it. 

The same spell which had stuck Apollo to the ceiling the day before lifted them each ten feet off the ground. "Keep going, Charlie," she said quietly, "I'm gonna have a quiet talk with these two." She left Charlie to continue and try to recapture his audience's attention as she strode away, the two miscreants floating helplessly behind. She hoped the others would listen to him, but she suspected she'd been too dramatic once again. 

She stopped at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and let the two float down so their feet were only a foot off the ground.   
"Names and houses." 

"Fredrick Muir, Gryffindor," said a waxy looking boy with pale hair. He looked oddly like Draco, though his eyes were blue. Odd that he should look so like the other boy's hero, while his opponent in turn looked a good deal like Harry. The other boy, who named himself Patrick Varlet of Slytherin House, had dark brown hair and green-hazel eyes. Funny how the world was like that. 

"Very well. I'm just warning you this time. Five points will be taken from each of your houses for fighting and being disruptive. In the future – and be sure to warn your friends of this – it will be ten points for each offence I can think of – and there will be several – as well as a dunking in the lake. Do I make myself clear?" They nodded, and she allowed them to run back to class.   
The class continued smoothly until the bell. Any child who thought to start a fight would suddenly see Artemis watching them. Her warning had traveled quickly and quietly through the grapevine, it seemed. All thoughts of fighting were quickly quashed.   
Though the students whispered of magic that let her know their thoughts, the technique had nothing to do with magic. She just sat back and let Charlie talk and watched the whole class at once. Many of her teachers at Wildmoor used it, and having been exposed to it for years, Artemis knew exactly how to do it, if not how to combat it. 

In the fifteen minute break between classes, Charlie asked suddenly, "You play quidditch?"   
Artemis considered. She played quidditch Wildmoor style, which basically meant no holds bared. She hadn't ridden a broomstick in years, not since she'd last lived among humans. Wait, that wasn't right. She'd ridden one three years ago, when her cousin had taught her human quidditch. "Sorta. Why?" 

"We're starting up a teacher's league this year. Teams are done based on what we teach, and ours is a bit short."   
"I'd love to try." 

"Great. We practice right after dinner tomorrow." He went on to explain the teams. There were three of them, once made of administrative staff and a few other staff who didn't actually teach. The next was made of those who taught the main courses, the ones students were required to take every year until after their OWLs. The final one, which Charlie captained, had all the electives teachers. 

It wasn't long before the sixth years arrived. The girls, Artemis noticed, had all done themselves up as best they could. She'd been the object of jealousy before, but she hated the way girls looked at her, their eyes practically glowing. They looked at her, and she knew what they saw. 

A beautiful young girl who should have been a student but who had – to their minds – manipulated her way up the ladder. She was too good to wear regular wizard robes, and instead worse some sort of black suit with knee high boots instead of shoes. Professor Weasley could wear dragon leathers – he worked with dragons. But this Professor Riddle was something else, something they didn't like. 

One of them seemed different, though. The girl from breakfast didn't seem to care one was or the other about how Artemis looked. She looked instead with something like curiosity – and fear.   
"Who's the red-head?" she asked Charlie quietly. He followed her gaze, though from his answer he already knew who she meant. 

"My sister, Ginny. But…" he trailed off. He seemed to be puzzling something out. Finally he came to a decision. "You have to talk to her. I'll start the class. Just trust me," he said, seeing her look. "It's really, really important." He called Ginny over. "Ginny, I need you to talk to Artemis. I don't understand, but she has to." This obviously meant something to Ginny, something she didn't like. 

"Fine," she muttered. Artemis, who had only one clue as to what was going on, led the way to the office. There was something about Riddle, something Ginny didn't like.   
Inside they each sat in one of Charlie's large armchairs. Artemis looked at Ginny, and saw fear, revulsion and hatred, but also a sort of softness, and then she knew. 

"How did you meet Tom?" she asked.   
"What?" Ginny yelped. 

"Please, don't worry," Artemis said hurridly. It had, perhaps, not been the best way to broach the subject. "Let me explain. I… I know him, or did. And people look funny when they think about him. And they look at me funny when they hear my name." 

"You knew him. How old are you?" this in a level voice, although it had a bite of challenge to it.   
"Almost nineteen. Please, no questions. But, let me just say, hat I knew him as he was, and as he is."   
"And? Are you human enough to fear him, to hate him as everyone who's sane does?" 

"I fear for him, and hate what has happened. More than you could ever know." Artemis stood and began to walk slowly around the room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ginny twist in her chair to keep an eye on her. "I'm not like you, Ginny, nor like Harry or Charlie or any of you. I do what I can, and what I must, but even I have my limitations."   
"You have spoken much, but said little, as my granddad would say." 

"I'm afraid so. I have said enough, though. How did you meet Tom?" And Ginny told her. All about the enchanted diary and the Chamber of Secrets, about Harry rescuing her and killing the basilisk. Artemis listened, and remembered a boy very like Draco. 

When they rejoined the class, Artemis understood the suspicion. While she had done nothing to clear it, she had somehow gained a little of Ginny's trust. But Tom had done the same thing.   
"You want to start the dementors lecture?" Charlie asked. 

"Sure." She'd wanted to do dragons, but Dumbledore had forbidden it for all but the seventh years. Demons had seemed like a good second choice, but she wasn't up to that right now. Being allergic to demons, and all. That was another thing elves weren't, she thought, irritated. Allergic to anything. Neither of the boys had problems like that. Studying dementors first would mean Ray would have time to make that foul concoction of his that eliminated her allergies for twenty-two hours. A pity there was no real cure for allergies. 

"Dementors, like many Dark creatures, were created by wizards," she told the class, sitting on the enclosure wall while she talked. They all sat in the grass obediently and started taking notes. "While many believe Salazar Slytherin to be their creator, it was actually a Dark wizard from Germany or Austria who lived about 500 AD. Until Slytherin's day, they stayed in relative obscurity, preying on small, isolated villages in Eastern Europe. Slytherin, who was not a Dark wizard as many believe, brought them from the wilderness to guard the wizard prison he had, as an influential military leader, just created. It is now known as Azkaban." She thought she saw a few of the students shudder at the name of the prison. Having no soul, she couldn't feel the effects of dementors herself, but Ray's descriptions of their powers were vivid enough to scare anyone, even someone with nothing to fear. 

One of the students had put their hand up. She nodded to indicate she was listening. "How could Slytherin not be a Dark wizard? He started all that pure-blood stuff, didn't he? He put in the Chamber of Secrets." 

"It would probably be better to ask your History of Magic teacher that sort of question, but I'll do my best to explain. In Slytherin's day, you see, the general perception was that there was noble blood and there was common blood. Wizards had it, and so did muggles. Nobility would disown their children, or lock them up, rather than let them marry a commoner. Most wizarding families thought the same way about muggles. It wasn't evil then, it just was. Slytherin, for his part, was actually a progressive in that time. He didn't care whether magical folk married with muggles. He was actually a bit afraid they'd become inbred if they didn't. He wasn't," she allowed, "quite as open minded as any of the other founders, but he was better about it than many." 

The boy had his hand up again. "So why did he not want muggle-borns in Hogwarts?" 

"He had two reasons, according to his writings. The first was that a large amount of money and support for Hogwarts came from those pure-blooded families who were very opposed to muggles, and he didn't want to lose that. The second was that muggles didn't take well to finding out their spouses and children were magical. If Hogwarts never contacted them, and their parents never told them, they need never know, he reasoned. And they also never need worry about being burned as a witch before they knew how to protect themselves. Now, I don't know how accurate his writings are, because they are biased, but that is what he has said on the subject. On our own subject, that of dementors, for next class I'd like a thousand word minimum essay on the nature of dementors from the Hufflepuffs." Several Gryffindors grinned at this. "The rest of you, I want a two thousand word essay. You may write it on the nature of either fear or souls, not both, and how they relate to dementors. And next time, Gryffindors, you will shut up your classmated if you don't want extra work." She looked meaningfully at a brown-haired boy in the back who was talking quietly to his friend. Several Gryffindors, seeing them, sent glares that promised retribution. The boy shut up, and Artemis let them go to get a head start on their essays, though she doubted many would use it. 


	8. Apollo: Books

_So this is just the fan fic I'm writing for fun. Nothing serious about it, what so ever. I've pretty much decided to throw in some crazy, highly powerful characters and let Potter et al. deal with them. Enjoy_   


* * *

  
The words on the pages weren't English, or any other human language for that matter. Humans couldn't even begin to dream of the vast complexity of the symbols, never mind what they represented. Odd that a race as stupid as the elves could create and use something as complex as Thrainian. 

Apollo was fluent in Thrainian, but the symbols meant nothing to him as he flipped through the thin book. Even though they blurred together on the pages in front of his unfocussed eyes, he knew what they said. Eh knew the whole book by rote.   
'It is improper etiquette to eat your host or another guest' was there, alongside 'cursing, hexing, or otherwise magicking a teacher in any way that should cause lasting harm is punishable by detention'. A guide and rule book that the Wildmoor teachers had thoughtfully compiled. Actually, all they'd done was read through Artemis's records – and his own, he allowed – and turned their escapades into 'don't's. But as they rarely pulled the same thing twice, they needn't have bothered. Although neither of the twins had ever eaten a sentient being before. Perhaps Thor had. 

The whole booklet was summed up nicely on the cover. 'Behave Yourself', it had been thoughtfully entitled. Now, thanks to Artemis's careful minstrations, it read 'Pee Yourself'. She'd altered hers too, but it said 'be' not 'pee'. It was, she had explained, an excellent way out of trouble. Now she had only to say that she was doing as the book instructed. 

Lacking time to do much to the other students' books, Artemis had, with Ares's help, altered them all to read 'have rose BY elf'. Why they bothered he'd never know. 

Sick of starting at the Thrainian, he reached down beside his bed and grabbed a random book. He might as well get some idea of what he had to study this year. 'When Bad To Find Artemis The Fantastic', the cover told him. Flipping through, it proved to be 'Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them'. Frustrated, he threw it down and grabbed another one. 'Dance and Divition'. She'd misspelled division and lost a V somewhere along the way, but coming up with anagrams for all his books must have been difficult. Where did she find the time? 

"How's it coming?" Ron asked, coming in. Apollo threw the book at him, still flat on his back on the bed. Ron's work as Keeper had greatly improved his reflexes; he caught it easily. 

"Dance and division?" Ron asked. "Never heard of it. Division's spelt wrong, though."   
"Tell me something I don't know. It was Artemis who changed it."   
"From?"   
"Advanced Divination. She did it to all my books." 

"Why?" Ron sounded skeptical, amused, and vaguely like that was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. IUT probably was.   
"Bored, probably." He tossed Ron a copy of 'have rose BY elf' he'd stolen from Velma. Ron looked at it a minute before opening to a random page and reading; 

"_If you must transfigure a fellow student, be sure they are still able to attend classes. Failure to do so will result in detention_." 

Harry, who had just walked in, read over Ron's shoulder, "Students must not keep large or overly dangerous creatures in public areas. Pets are to be kept in your rooms. No exceptions." HE looked skeptically at Apollo. "What is this?"   
"School rule book." 

"Mind if I hold on to this?" Ron asked. "I want to show the twins."   
"Go ahead."   
"Pee Yourself?" Harry asked, sighting the book under the bed.   
"Artemis got at it." 

"Ah." Harry wasn't all that surprised. Apollo had told him enough about his sister that very little should surprise him. "Why does she do all of this?" 

Apollo shrugged. "She's Artemis. She always…" he froze. "Has a reason," he finished in a strangled voice. Then, "Ares!"   
The summoning magic of the elves was a little like the Floo network of the wizards, except that no fireplaces or powders were needed. You just said the person's name, and an image of them appeared. Ares flickered into existence in the bare space between the beds, holding a pool cue. Apollo knew his friend and Artemis had loved the game since they'd wandered into a human pub and learned how to play it, but he had never really understood what they saw in it. Or how they'd managed to get hold of a table here. But, considering who he was dealing with, perhaps he shouldn't be surprised at anything anymore.   
"What's up man?" Ares asked, a smile on his face. 

"You, and Artemis…" unable to continue, Apollo held up the picture of his girlfriend he normally kept with him. Someone – two guessed who – had drawn a curly mustache, goatee, glasses and horns on the siren girl, who tried to hide behind the frame but who seemed unable to. 

"Calm down," Ares said, still grinning. "You'll have an apoplexy." 

"I can't have an apoplexy," Apollo snapped, momentarily sidetracked. "I'm an elf, by Drow." 

Ares's face contorted momentarily at the swear, and Apollo reflected that perhaps it hadn't been the best choice in oaths. He'd catch it from Artemis later for using it, of that he was sure. She'd forbidden him to, and with excellent reason, but just then he didn't care. "You can't be angry either, but you seem to be making a good show of it," Ares replied. He was smiling again, and if it was a bit forced, well, that was the way of the world. 

"Why?" Apollo demanded through gritted teeth. "What has she ever done to you?"   
"Well, it's more the fact that she exists," Ares said thoughtfully. "Oh, and she pissed Artemis off."   
"I don't care what Artemis thinks. It's my relationship, and she can just butt out. You tell her that."   
"She heard you just fine." 

"She's there with you, is she? Well listen to me, Artemis. I don't care what you think of my girlfriend. You just butt out."   
"She says the goat horns are an insult to Ian," Ares told him. 

"Tell her I'm glad she's split up with that fucking devil, but she's not to take it out on me." Artemis had dated the goat horned demon boy for a few months. Oddly, she hadn't been allergic to him. Apollo hadn't liked him at all, though.   
"She can hear you, remember." 

Apollo sighed. You just couldn't win with Artemis. Or Ares, but that was mostly because Artemis was with him. "Whatever. Want to meet in the library?" At least they could go over their assignment from the teachers at Wildmoor, maybe get it done early. 

Ares toasted him with a butterbeer bottle. "Sorry, man. I'm too busy snogging your little sister senseless." He terminated the link, leaving Apollo to yell at empty air.   
"You bastard. Leave my sister alone." 

There was silence in the door for a minute before Apollo heard the other two boys release held breath. "Man," Ron said quietly, "and I thought I was protective of my little sister. Isn't he your best friend?"   
Apollo glared at him. "So what? He has no right to do anything to her." 

"Have you considered that maybe he wasn't?" Hermione stood in the doorway, leaning on the door frame. She was a nice, sensible girl, and Apollo rather liked her. He just wished Artemis could be more like her. "He knows how to piss you off, that's for sure." 

"'Mione, maybe this isn't the best time…" Harry started to protest. 

"No really," Hermione insisted. "He was just trying to annoy you. He's a Slytherin, after all." She said it like it settled the matter. 

Apollo took a deep, calming breath. "Hermione, you have to be the craziest girl I know," he said at last.   
"Since you are, without a doubt, the craziest man in the world," Ron said, "I'd say that's a compliment." 


End file.
